


and who could make this heart their home?

by eldritch_beau



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Essek Week (Critical Role), M/M, Wizards Yearn, but first we get through the essek angst..., drunk Caleb is a lil on the affectionate side ngl, fair warning: LOTS of hand-holding, i think this got tender folks, when he gets jealous... Caleb Widogast shoots his shot, with a dash of beaujester on the side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritch_beau/pseuds/eldritch_beau
Summary: Essek gets a surprise visitor in the dead of the night.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 36
Kudos: 491
Collections: Essek Week





	and who could make this heart their home?

**Author's Note:**

> **Day 3 Prompt: Wine**
> 
> well, i went a lil self-indulgent with this one so... *finger guns*

* * *

He doesn’t drink. Alcohol has never been a friend and he has never had the spirit for such proclivities. It is an ill-grown habit that’ll only make him inefficient in his academics and ill-equipped to face any crisis that always comes chasing at his heels. Alcohol is not a friend and he should know— he has friends now. Or... _had_ friends. Until a couple of weeks ago. He is fairly confident things have changed there and almost sure that none for the better. It still surprises him that he _did_ make friends for the first time in his life and (as is wont to be with him) lost them all the same. Essek brings the bottle to his lips and drinks deeply. What is yet _another_ indulgence, anyway?

The liquid is sweet but it burns down his throat and Essek coughs, unused to such habits. He briefly pities Verin and everyone else who enjoys drinking for fun... decides he will never understand them. It feels silly somehow, to think that for a while there he thought things could be different, fooled _himself_ even into believing that maybe he could still salvage this, that what the Nein didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. But they know the truth now; and it _did_ hurt them _._ He thinks of the look on their faces, the trust they had insofar placed in him receding further and further until it vanished completely.

He does not begrudge them their animosity. It’s well deserved. Instead, he thinks of Jester’s sad frown, Beau’s furrowed brows, Veth’s suspicious glare… and more than most, he thinks of Caleb with that cold hard look in his eyes and the yawning inside Essek’s chest opens wider, threatening to swallow him whole. Essek lets out an irritated chuckle and fills it with wine instead.

His mother would love this, love to see him suffer for his foolishness, would tell him he _should_ know better by now. She would say so many things— if she cared. Her children’s well-being has never really interested her, a woman of power as she is. And Essek supposes that after having lived so many lifetimes, perhaps you get tired of loving. 

_In that case, I don’t have much to lose anyway,_ he reminds himself and a hurtful chuckle escapes his throat. Perhaps laughing at his own misery will get him through this if nothing else does.

They have stopped the war now the two nations can go back to their uneasy peace. Essek hopes it lasts, takes another long sip to reassure himself.

“To peace!” he raises the bottle in a mockery of a toast and immediately cringes, realizing it’s in bad taste. It does not do well to belittle his efforts or more importantly, those of his friends’. This peace— however fragile— is still hard-earned. He has put his friends (they are to him, even if _he_ isn’t to them anymore) through _enough_ already.

The realization of it is like a sinking feeling, a sharp sting at the corner of his ribcage like a dagger being pushed slowly between his ribs, to make the pain last— to make it _hurt._

 _Nevermind, there’s work to be done for tomorrow_ , he tells himself but his heart is pounding so loudly in his chest and Essek’s breath comes sharp and shallow. _I can allow himself one night,_ he implores but the misery that only pulled at one corner of his chest before has started to unravel and Essek can feel himself coming apart. Jester’s voice sounds milder, sadder in retrospect, Beau’s gaze looks sharper in his memory, Veth disapproval more tedious and the disappointed wariness in Caleb’s face wounds him somewhere deep, somewhere private that he keeps to himself and shows to no one— no one before the Nein. _No no no no no,_ he shuts his eyes tight and slams his skull back against the headrest, willing himself to calm down but grief is a volatile thing and he has never dealt with one of such magnitude before.

Unbidden, his cruel mind supplies him with the memory of the first time Jester hugged him and how it had startled him— that casual show of genuine affection, the first time Caleb had said _they were friends, ja?_ and it was such a curious sound, never his to behold before and he had wanted it, wanted something private that wasn’t just secrets and lies— for the first time, something... _kind._ He remembers the way Beau had said, “you don’t have to float around us, man” and how it had made something inside him ache at such an unpretentious acceptance. He thinks of the Caduceus’ bread and cheese and certainly it wasn’t the best culinary experience, maybe but the company that it came with was incomparable. He thinks of how happy they used to be to see him, how they would perhaps be the only people in his life to say his name not with command or contempt… but a comforting cordiality; thinks of how the unfamiliarity of their friendship so very slowly nestled into something that had previously felt so cold and weaved into what he might daresay call a heart.

_And to think he has thrown all of that away…_

_“Make no mistake, we do not trust you”_ and Essek forces himself to harp on that, to cling onto that. _They do not trust me, they do not trust me,_ he reminds himself and something slips from his grasp with a sharp shattering noise and Essek can’t bring himself to care, _they do not trust me—_ Caleb _will never trust me— they shouldn’t—_ Caleb _shouldn’t— and_ that _is what I deserve._

The point of pain reaches up his chest and claws at his throat and it’s too much, a heart is too heavy a burden and Essek buries his head in his palms, angry fingers pulling at his hair to tether himself to a different pain, a physical one— and Essek _screams._

There is no sound, of course. He has long learnt to never make a single sound (lest someone hear— lest his _own mother)_ but he hears the sharp scratching noise of the expensive furniture scraping loudly against the expensive floor, the sound of breaking glass— the reverb of his outburst felt in his magic as it pushes at everything in the room, a destructive force magnified from his own pulse pounding on the inside of his head (how apt is it that even at his most vulnerable he leaves destruction in his wake?) and it's a numbing pain, a self-destruction and Essek doesn’t _care_ — doesn’t care if his whole tower burns down, doesn't care for the prim propriety of it all, doesn’t care what the servants might say some morning, doesn’t care what the Bright Queen might say if she finds out he was the one who gave the beacons away.

He feels hollowed out all of a sudden, bone-tired and empty; a husk of a man. He is alone. And in his solitude, he can be his ugly, damned himself. And if that part of him wants to fall to the floor and curl onto himself… who is Essek to argue? 

Something sharp stings his side and he brings his face to his hand only to realize it’s a shard or two from the wine bottle he dropped earlier. His palm is bathed in a deep red and Essek can’t tell if it’s blood or wine. Doesn’t care if it seeps into his clothes. 

He lets his head back against the seat, baring his neck to the air and idly imagines how opportune it would be for any assassin to slit his throat right now. 

Imagines how many the Assembly will send for him when it’s time and nearly chuckles.

Which is why when he hears the last voice he expected to hear at a moment like this whisper urgently inside his head, Essek’s eyes shoot wide open and he blinks, wondering if it is just his cruel mind playing cruel tricks on him again.

—

Essek looks different.

His sleeves are rolled up, his collar undone and his shirt wrinkled in wrong places. He looks haggard and his hair is ruffled and messy in a way that one would assume that he had either just been awoken very roughly from sleep or hadn’t slept at all in days. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks confused to spot his visitor (but lets him in anyway) and as soon as the man steps in, with a wave of his hand Essek shuts the door behind them.

There’s a heaviness in the air about him, as if resting snug on those shoulders that look so bony without the mantle. Essek slouches, feet touching the ground the instant the door is shut and he faces away, head bent low, as if willing strength into himself with every breath he takes, away from the intrusion of his visitor’s gaze. 

“You’re alone?” Essek asks, “did something happen? What happened? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is alright,” his visitor reassures, “for now, anyway.” he adds as an afterthought and then, he says with a pressing urgency to his tone, “I came to see you because I needed to… _see you_.”

After a minute that feels like it has stretched into eternity, Essek gathers himself, “Ah. I assume you have questions.”

“I do.”

Essek nods absent-mindedly, “alright then,” he says, as if more to himself— before turning and _finally_ meeting his visitor’s gaze, “ask me anything you want, Caleb Widogast.”

—

It’s a tentative vow he makes to himself, that whatever Caleb asks he will reply honestly. Doesn’t matter how ugly the truth is or how afraid he is of being perceived by Caleb— for once, he will not hide behind the compulsive lies and carefully crafted half-truths. So when the first question Caleb asks is, “how are you doing, Essek? You don’t look… well”, Essek fears his resolve might break at its first hurdle itself.

“just… tired” he allows himself to admit, putting on a small smile for Caleb’s comfort, “but I have managed to hold on.”

“Good… that’s uh, all any of us can do, really.” Caleb shrugs, stepping just a bit closer, “I... I have been upset and hurt over recent events, Essek. _Angry_ at you even. And I still am. But... I have thought this over countless times and come to the irrefutable conclusion that I do not have all the variables, that maybe if I _knew_ better, I would… _understand_ better. And perhaps some would say it’s foolish of me to come here, reckless even to trust you, but... _I want to try._ Will you help me, Essek? Will you help me understand you better?”

For the longest time it had been the only thing he’d ever wanted— to be seen, to be known, to be understood— if only by just _one_ person. _But that had been a childish dream,_ he thinks, _his crimes hadn’t been so many and his regrets were few._ Now, he’s not so sure anymore.

“I’m afraid you won’t like what you find, Caleb.”

“The Nein took that risk with me,” Caleb says, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves, folding them up, doing one hand first and then the other till his pale forearms are exposed to sight, “I am willing to take that risk with you.”

When Essek doesn't respond, Caleb takes a tentative step forward, “I trusted Ikithon too, once. I gave him everything I had, everything I was. I _learnt_ all there was to learn, so that I may serve him;" Caleb's frown gets more as more pronounced, "I hurt for him, I tortured and I killed for his cause— the dissenters, enemies of the Empire we would call them. I was _so sure_ that everything I was doing was for the right reasons, _so sure_ Essek. I gave him my childhood, my dreams, my ambitions… my family” Caleb swallows, brows furrowed and face set in deep anguish, “he took them from me and I ...gave. For the cause. For the Empire. For Ikithon. And all he gave me were _these."_

Caleb seats himself on the closest chair, holding his arms in a defeated, quiet submission that is so unbecoming of him that it makes Essek flinch. He kneels, reaching a hand towards Caleb’s arms, gentle fingers against the innumerable scars that draw patterns across his skin, markers of untold pain. It is only lucky that Essek hadn’t eaten anything since the morning because to think that Essek himself has personally associated (collaborated, even) with a man who has caused Caleb so much suffering… it is enough to make his stomach turn in the ugliest way.

“I am so sorry” he says, not realizing until now that empathy is perhaps something he is capable of after all. Essek blinks as if to will away the tears pooling in his eyes as he brushes his thumb gently across Caleb’s uneven skin, “I didn’t know, I…”

“I know…” Caleb says, voice softer, continuing “when the strain of what I had done broke me, Ikithon put me in the Sanatorium, hid me with his other broken experiments, I suppose— and I stayed there for eleven years, catatonic and with no memory of what transpired whatsoever— I would have died there too, i think... if it weren’t for a woman who helped me escape.”

Essek shuts his eyes, the thought of Caleb catatonic— _dead_ even, no he won’t even think—

“I had a feeling they wouldn’t tell you any of this.” When Essek opens his eyes again, Caleb is staring at him with an inscrutable look on his face, “But you know _now._ And there are countless others like me, who think they are fighting for the right cause, deluded in thinking they are giving up their lives and their loves for a man as vile as Ikithon, for an institution as corrupt as the Assembly.”

 _I am not one of them, I swear._ Essek wants to say so much but it all feels inadequate, and all that comes from his mouth is a recurring sentiment, “I’m so sorry, Caleb…” he says, voice tight with despair. Caleb still hasn’t pulled his hands away and Essek takes strength from that, “for the longest time I thought the Assembly was my only hope.” Essek shakes his head slowly, biting down on his lower lip to keep it from quivering, “The Dynasty wouldn’t let me close enough to study the beacons, these secrets they keep hidden and worship it in some misguided idea of divinity, these artifacts they are so powerful, there’s so much possibility in them, I… I wanted to _know more,_ I wanted to make sure that they are not misused by someone else,” he bows his head, “they would tell me I was wrong, that I was _too young to understand_ and I…” Essek frowns, shameful, “when the Martinet made the proposition for the beacons, I didn’t so much as hesitate. I imagined the Assembly was an impartial faction of knowledge, that they would extend the same amount of academic respect towards me as I would to them.” his voice grows quieter, more somber, “I was so wrong.” To say it all aloud makes it feel so foolish for him to have deluded himself for so long, “they didn’t even tell me they were weaponizing the beacon, would you believe that?” he asks rhetorically but Caleb still nods, still sympathizes, “I was so stupid that in my efforts to keep the beacons from being misused by untrustworthy parties, I personally handed them over to the worst, most untrustworthy party _myself.”_

Essek swallows. That is not the whole of the story and if anything, Caleb deserves to know all of it, for better or for worse.

“And this is the part that will make you hate me,” Essek continues, gently untangling his hands from Caleb’s. Better pull away first than to feel the sting when Caleb flinches, “I don’t regret it. I still got more information about those beacons than the Dynasty would ever let me and I don’t truly feel sorry for the war, I don’t know how to. There’s perhaps something wrong with me, something broken because I don’t feel…. I don’t know how to feel _anything._ I never have. And even now the only thing I feel is shame and agony over the fact that _I hurt you._ That I hurt all of you with my actions. You cared about me, you placed your trust in me and I broke that, I disappointed you.”

He can hear his own voice starting to quiver and Essek takes a steadying breath.

“I don’t think you can help me, Caleb. I am not like you, I am _not good.”_ Talking through the lump in his throat is getting harder, “I have done terrible things and don’t you say that you think there’s hope because I didn’t do any of those things for a cause, misguided or otherwise. I simply did them _for me._ For myself. For my own twisted purposes that I somehow still think are important. Just that….” he trails off, unsure, but the quick glance he steals at Caleb’s eyes break his ability to hold back, “you are more important now; and I don’t want any of you to suffer the consequences of my actions.”

Essek’s eyes are fixed pointedly to the ground, evasive as ever; which is why he doesn’t see it coming until he feels the soft pads of Caleb’s fingertips touch just his cheek. His heartbeat stutters and Essek goes very still.

Caleb’s voice is barely above a whisper, “You remind me _so much_ of the man I used to be, it's uncanny.” He lets his hand drop and Essek feels like he can breathe again— until Caleb takes both of Essek’s hands in his own, cradling them. Essek’s pulse picks up an ungodly pace.

“I can not give up on you, not yet. Not like this.” Caleb shakes his head, as if coming to a decision, “you say you see possibilities in those beacons but oh, Essek if only you knew of all the possibilities I see in you.”

Very carefully, very slowly, so as to not startle him, Caleb brings Essek’s limp hands closer to his lips and plants a forceful, almost decisive kiss on his knuckles. He closes his eyes, holding Essek’s hands in his own, a soft brush of his chapped lips against the drow's hypersensitive skin. Essek can feel it's warmth travel up his veins and flush his cheeks; heat the tip of his ears to a dark violet. He can only hope that Caleb doesn’t notice, that Caleb doesn’t feel the pulse at his wrist, hammering away in his chest as if it wants to break out of his ribcage this very instant.

“The Nein have been so good for me,” Caleb finally speaks and his lips are still so close, Essek’s fingers tingle with every breath of Caleb’s warm words, “they can be so good for you as well. You have never had people you cared about before, ja? but you have _us_ now— you have ...me.”

Caleb's cheeks are suddenly flushed an endearing red, “I know I’m not much but I can help you with your research, if you would like?" he goes on, "I admit I might not be as cunning as the Assembly folks but—”

“Shh…” Instinctively his forefinger breaks from the concord of their hands and presses itself against Caleb’s lips. It shuts him up immediately.

“I would like _nothing_ more, but I don’t want to hear you say that,” the conviction in his own voice startles Essek, if only a little. He swore he would give Caleb nothing but the truth and his confidence in Caleb is the easiest truth of them all, “you are far more intelligent, far more capable than you give yourself credit for, Caleb. I have lived a hundred years and not met the likes of you, not in mind or in heart. You are a fine mage and an even finer man. Do not belittle yourself, Caleb Widogast. Don’t do yourself that grave disservice.” 

Essek’s finger shifts, angling itself gently under the tip of Caleb’s chin, brushing against the bristles of Caleb’s morning beard. The rough texture of it against his fingertips is tempting in a way he has never really known before, it makes his mouth dry. Makes him want to reach forward, angle Caleb’s face just right and do something... _reckless._

(The strange look in Caleb’s eyes makes it feel like he almost _wants_ him to.)

For a brief second, he wonders what Caleb would taste like. 

Essek swallows the hunger and reins in this dizzying want. He does not deserve this, and more importantly, Caleb would never consent to it. Would never agree to this weight of emotions that fills every inch of Essek’s being and threatens to spill from his skin.

He thinks he’s _in love with Caleb Widogast_ and it might be the worst of his secrets yet because he doesn’t know how to hold it, how to keep it safe, how to secure it in the deepest parts of himself when it flows so openly from his fingertips, from his eyes, from every broken edge.

So he breathes shakily and remarks instead, “you will do great things, Caleb. this much I know.”

 _“We_ will do great things.” Caleb replies and it sounds so much like a promise that Essek almost says _yes._

—

“Think about it” Caleb says, resting a gentle hand against his shoulder when he has teleported them back to the belly of the Nein’s ship, “We all start somewhere. I know whatever choice you make, I believe it will be the right one.”

The fact that Caleb can still hope for him, even after all this, “Your faith in me is alarming, Caleb when I have none in myself.”

“I suppose then, for now I will have to have enough faith for the both of us.”

Essek’s smile is watery, “Good night, Caleb.”

Caleb gives Essek’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, looks searchingly into Essek’s eyes before smiling back at the drow, “Good night, Essek.”

—

It is with intent that he teleports to Bazoxxan, the last loose end. Verin is in his commander’s chambers. His brother never was good at hiding his true feelings and his confusion at seeing Essek is written all over his face. 

_“Essek?_ what’s wrong?” he says suspiciously and Essek wants to laugh because of course his brother would assume that the only time he would want to see him would be if something has gone gravely wrong.

“I wanted to give you this,” he says and hands over the keys to his house, “It’s yours now. Just don’t throw away my books.”

“What?!” Verin’s face is a mask of utter disbelief, “Did you get a _bigger_ house? Where are you going?”

“Away.”

“Away?! What does _that_ mean?! And why are you giving me your house?”

“I’m resigning, in fac—”

“Does _mother_ know?”

Essek sighs. “I am tired of playing her games, Verin.”

A silence settles over them and the look of disbelief on Verin’s face melts when he realizes that this is not a decision that Essek took lightly.

“Uh wow…” His brother cracks a small smile which morphs into a laugh of utter disbelief and there's twinkle of admiration in it too and more than anything, Verin's laugh is contagious and Essek finds himself joining in like it's an inside joke and he's never had any of these before, least of all with _his own brother_ , “...will I see you again? In this century or the next?”

Esske shrugs, “maybe. If I don’t die… I hope it’s not the last we see of each other.”

Verin gives an agreeing nod and then grimaces, “I don’t want to be the one to tell mother.”

“Ehhh” Essek says thoughtfully, “I handed in my resignation before coming here, so chances are she already knows.”

Verin chuckles and something inside Essek softens for their sad excuse for a goodbye, that perhaps in all the ways their parents pit them against each other, Essek lost out on a relationship that could’ve been his anchor. Perhaps they both did.

“Don’t let her get to you, Verin.” Essek says before turning towards the door, “and _don’t_ throw away my books.”

“Hey Essek?” the tinge of affection in Verin’s voice makes him stop at the threshold, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Essek gives him a small nod before shutting the door behind him.

—

When he teleports to the Balleater, it’s with a purseful of coin so he is not a burden on the Nein (at least not financially), his spellbook and the parasol that Jester gave him, which has come to be his most prized possession.

 _It is going to be a long road to rebuilding their trust,_ he knows, but Caduceus’ tea is warm, Jester’s welcome hug is warmer and Caleb’s small smile of encouragement is the warmest of them all.

If they can believe in him so much, even after everything that has transpired— the least he can do is _try._

—

Essek isn’t in the habit of drinking but after two years on the road, he thinks he understands now. Understands why intoxication is an easy indulgence, sometimes perhaps _fun_ even when there are friends to share the experience with.

Of course the half-elf at the bar who bought Essek a drink and then leaned in to whisper an invitation to go up to his room to spend the night together wasn’t something he had anticipated— but there was a curious look on Caleb’s face when Essek had turned that man down with a smile. The wizard’s gaze had been focused on his book, but Essek knew him enough by now to know Caleb’s tells; to know that is _exactly_ how Caleb eavesdrops.

When Essek returned to their table with the array of drinks for the party, Caleb had shut his book and shifted, pointedly seating himself next to Essek, shoulders brushing and arms touching every now and then when the other shifts and if Essek didn't know any better, he would think it were almost a deliberate move on Caleb's part.

The tavern is loud and they have just killed a coven of vampires terrorizing the town and Beau is arguing loudly (and drunkenly) with anyone who will listen that “ok hear me out! You guys are gonna kinkshame me for this but those vampires we fought, man….. them fangs _are HOT!”_

Fjord facepalms and Caduceus sips his milk, nodding sagely. Yasha is being flirted at by the orc bartender lady who just gave the aasimar ‘a drink on the house.’

“Very true, very true” Jester points at her own fangs, “Beau do you think I’m hot, be honest Beau!”

“Uh……..” Beau stutters and Essek hides his smile with a sip of his drink.

Jester had long confided in him about her feelings for Beau and while Essek had reassured her that Beau feels the same way _( ohmygosh how do you know, Essek!! Tell me everything!! Did Beau say something to you??”)_ Jester never believed him, said that she won’t believe it until Beau admits it herself _(“then you’ll be waiting a long time, Jester.”)_ and insofar her every endeavor has gone towards getting Beau to show any signs of reciprocation, while denying they are there at all _(but what if you’re wrong, Essek! What if Beau doesn’t like me after all???” “You should just ask her, Jester.” “I can’t ask her, what if she doesn’t like me!!!”)._

Essek doesn’t know if Beau notices Jester’s flushed face as the blue tiefling hinges her conviction on Beau’s answer… but she sure notices Essek’s smirk and kicks him under the table.

“Ow” Essek chokes on his drink, smirking meaningfully at Jester when—

“I agree with Beau,” Caleb interrupts, “not _all_ fangs but…” he holds Essek’s gaze over the brim of his mug as he drinks, “ _some_ are _very hot,_ ja.”

It’s such a little thing but it still makes Essek’s face flush and sends a jolt of thrill down the drow’s spine. Caleb doesn’t _look_ drunk. Whiskey works fast but Essek doubts if two sips of it are enough to tip the wizard over to such boldness. But their hands are on the table, knuckles almost brushing— warmth radiating off the human’s skin and Essek’s is drawn to it like a moth to a flame; his treacherous heart leaps and starts beating erratically again. 

Just like all those times when they have exchanged what felt like stolen glances, all those watches they stayed up for late at night just the two of them, all those conversations about hope and fear and _belonging,_ of the pasts tucked away in the clandestine corners of their minds, of the future they hope to behold, to rebuild and regrow, of the shared excitement when they are researching the beacon together they stole back from the Assembly, of battles fought side by side while covering for their friends, of looking out for the whole party but also, indulgently, for each other; of fingertips brushed when combing through pages at the Cobalt Soul, of the way the corner of Caleb’s eyes crinkle, the cornflower blue so bright and so beautiful, of _happiness_ and how good it looks on Caleb; of all those times Essek _almost_ said it— _almost_ admitted to this incurable weakness he has for Caleb that has somehow also turned into an invaluable strength—

Essek is staring again.

This time the kick that comes under the table is from Jester as the tiefling returns his meaning smirk with an intense eyebrow wiggle of her own. In the otherwise rowdy tavern, their table has gone uncannily silent.

“I am tired, ja I'm going to go to sleep,” Caleb says, stumbling out of his seat and Essek reaches out instinctively to steady him.

“You should help him to the room, Essek!” Jester all but squeals and Caleb’s voice is breathy against Essek’s ear, “you should, ja” and Essek suppresses the shiver the proximity brings.

The walk up to the room they share is only a little bit clumsy and when Essek finally shuts the door behind them, Caleb untangles himself from Essek and stands upright, as if all intoxication has been flushed out of his system with some mysterious restoration spell.

“I am not drunk, not really.” Caleb admits sheepishly as he rustles through his belongings.

Essek arches an eyebrow, “I figured” and the corner of his mouth pulls into a slow smile.

“The night is young. Here,” Caleb chuckles and produces the bottle of Lionett wine they swindled from Beau’s father the second time around because, to quote Jester, _he was being a dick._ Caleb sits cross-legged at the foot of his bed, signing for Essek to join him, “we can get drunk now, just the two of us. If you want.”

Essek seats himself next to Caleb, and takes the offered wine, “I’d like that.”

—

It’s easy to get lost in conversation, of magic and aspirations and wizards of old, to laugh at their mistakes as it is to learn from them and besides, time is always a fickle thing when he’s around Essek. Then again, the rest of the world feels a little blurry around the edges when he’s with Essek— even when he’s not drunk. 

Essek looks happier lately and Caleb loves the way his eyes shine when he smiles, loves the way Essek’s nose scrunches when he’s angry, loves the way Essek leans against his shoulder when they are travelling by cart. He loves Essek’s handwriting too.. loves the way the drow’s usually elegant script is so messy when his mind is racing far ahead for his hand to catch up with and brows furrowed, eyes focused and in his element— he is such a sight to behold; Caleb loves the gentle slope of Essek’s fingers, the way they move all bony but elegant and weave magic through complex runes he’s drawing for the first time as if he’s been doing it all his life; loves the way Essek’s mouth curves into a slow smile when he figures out a particularly difficult equation or when he’s threatening his way through an espionage mission. He loves that side of Essek that is efficient and smart and brilliant of course, but more than anything, he thinks he loves this side of Essek too, all giddy and giggly and hair mused, smiling from ear to ear and just… perfectly happy and in this moment, perfectly _content. He has never looked more beautiful._

Caleb’s breath catches. 

He been in love with Essek for a while now— but Caleb thinks he never been more _in love with Essek_ than he is right now. He loves him so much that it _aches._ Loves him so damn much that he could _kiss him._ And every second he spends restraining himself from leaning in and stealing a kiss is every second spent in a grievous kind of agony.

Caleb bites down on his lip to bite down on the impulse. Essek notices.

“I still think about that night.” Caleb says, forgetting whatever it was they were talking about before.

“What night?”

“That very first night after those peace talks. When I went to see you.”

Essek gives a nervous chuckle and takes a small sip from the bottle, “I remember.”

“You were... going to tell me _something_ that night, I…” Caleb shakes his head, “I thought I saw it in your eyes and…” Caleb takes a sip from their bottle, “I guess I let myself believe what I wanted to believe.”

Next to him Essek has gone very still, “and what was it that you let yourself believe I would’ve said?”

“It has something to do with..” And as he hands the bottle over, Caleb lets his fingers linger on Essek's, “...something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now, Essek.”

Essek doesn’t pull away.

“You’re drunk, Caleb.” Essek’s voice is barely above a whisper, a touch of grief, “you don’t want to do something you’ll regret come morning.”

“No, I don't think so,” Caleb knows the alcohol is making him bold but if he’s being fair, all of this has been merely an exercise in some feeble excuse to have more of Essek, perhaps a bit selfishly, more to himself. He gently takes the bottle from Essek’s hand and puts it down. "I don't think I'll regret this, Essek. Never _this."_

His hold on Essek’s hand remains steadfast, even if his gaze waivers.

“You can call me silly or stupid any of those things, but…” Caleb rubs his face with his other hand, “I didn’t like it when that man was flirting with you at the bar.”

When the drow doesn’t speak, Caleb focuses on fiddling with Essek’s fingers and continues, “you will laugh at me, it’s _silly_ I know.. but I saw you with him and I got upset! would you believe it? I overheard him invite you for a... _whatever"_ the vitriol in his tone is amusing, "...and this childish voice in my head went, ‘but _he’s mine’_ and—” Caleb locks his fingers with Essek’s and marvels at the soft coolness of Essek’s skin, “I think I was quite jealous.”

"if you still want that man I'm sure he's still around the tavern somewhere."

Caleb huffs, "you know that's not what I meant, Essek." He raises his gaze slowly, but gets entirely too caught up in the colour of Essek's wide-addled lips and Caleb _almost_ leans in, _almost_ gives in to the volatile temptation that is Essek's mouth and he doesn't realize he'd been _staring_ until Essek breaks the silence.

“I could be.”

“what” Caleb's mouth is dry.

“Yours.” Essek's voice is a breath of a thing as he staring at their intertwined palms, “if you wanted.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re drunk” Caleb says and is startled by the sadness in his own voice.

Essek laughs quietly at that, “I have felt this way for too long for one drunken night to change anything, Caleb.”

 _“Ja_ well, so have I!” Caleb pulls their entwined hands to his chest, resting it atop his heart.

Something in Essek’s gaze waivers and then softens. “Tell you what, I think I have a solution. We go to sleep tonight on our separate beds.” Caleb imagines his pout at that must’ve been _something_ if it made Essek laugh sound so particularly affectionate, “Come next morning, if we still feel the same way, whoever wakes first can snuggle the other. What do you say?”

“Deal” Caleb doesn’t think he’s jumped into a proposition so fast.

Maybe it's the way Essek's smile curls or maybe it's the way the moonlight from the open window catches a twinkle in his eye but it is in his moment of recklessness that Caleb submits to the gravity of the graviturgist and gives Essek's hand a gentle tug. Just enough to destabilize him, enough to have the drow brace against Caleb's shoulders for balance, face inches away from his own. Heart pounding wildly in his chest, Caleb cranes his neck and tilts his face just enough ...and waits.

There's a moment of pause as Essek deliberates; his breath is hot against Caleb's mouth and it would take so little, _so little_ to reach up and close the distance— but Caleb can be patient. And whatever Essek chooses (and even if it to pull away), Caleb will respect that.

The choice Essek makes is tentative, delicate fingers soft against Caleb's forehead to brush away a few stray strands and his touch is so charged, yet so gentle that Caleb shivers at the burning want it leaves in it's wake and almost leans in like it's the only comfort he'll ever know. Essek forefinger follows an excruciatingly slow path down the side of Caleb's face and comes to rest under Caleb's chin for a moment, thumb grazing barely against his scruff as Essek angles Caleb's face just a fraction (Caleb's whole body is buzzing with anticipation) before he leans in and closes the hair's breath of the distance between their lips with a will of his own.

It's a fleeting kiss placed first at the corner of Caleb's mouth, lips barely brushing and there's a whiff of cinnamon and wine in Essek's breath and the tip of Essek's fangs are barely pressed against corner of his lips and Caleb is... hungry. There's _more_ he wants, there's more if only Essek will—

—and he does. Essek leans closer in, arms locking around Caleb's shoulders as the drow deepens the kiss and Caleb can feel his own relief as he smiles into it. Essek tastes of the spice of the wine and the sweet of the honey they had in the mead earlier and Caleb arches against Essek, drinking deep as Essek's fingers weave into Caleb's hair and the drow pulls him closer and closer still— and somehow still not close enough. Essek opens his mouth to Caleb and something inside Caleb seems to simply _give_ as he chases Essek's kisses with a wild abandon, roughly pulling Essek onto his lap and fingertips brushing the side of the drow's neck as he kisses Essek back with all tongue and teeth, with all the love and aching he had been holding inside him for what feels entirely _too long._

Essek responds in kind and Caleb could weep from the reassurance of it all because surely Caleb can't have been the only one feeling this all this time, _surely?_

and yet, Caleb feels a sliver of fear— he has now learnt what Essek tastes like. If this is somehow the last of the kisses he is allowed to have from Essek would the simple memory of this moment ever suffice?

"I'm sorry" Caleb breathes, chest heaving when they finally come up for air, "I shouldn't have— I"m sorry"

Essek cradles his face in response, holds their foreheads together for a long minute before planting a much gentler kiss on Caleb's now swollen lips, one that feels like the promise of a soft sunrise and the warmth of his breath washes over Caleb's face as Essek says, "don't be. I'm not."

Caleb breathes a sigh of relief, even in the knowledge that Essek now holds his heart in his hands; and decides not to push his luck anymore lest he should break it. When he said that this isn't something he could ever regret, he had _meant_ it.

"tomorrow morning, then." he half-reminds Essek and half-inquires, hoping still that he hasn't ruined it all with his recklessness. 

"tomorrow morning it is." Essek reassures and with a swift kiss on the tip of Caleb's nose, he untangles himself.

—

Essek is not an early riser but he’s been awake on his side for the last fifteen minutes, staring at the wall and contemplating if he should cross over to Caleb’s bed. He can still feel Caleb's lips against his own, can feel the graze of Caleb's teeth, can feel the ruin it left in it's wake. _He wants more._ Essek swallows, turning to his other side instead, only to find Caleb staring at him from his side of the bed. Eyes wide, fully awake.

They stare at each other for a while, an unbreaking silence until Caleb says “I still feel the same way” the exact moment Essek also says, “My feelings haven’t changed.”

A moment passes in the quiet of the early morning as what they've just said to each other sinks in fully.

“It’s cold.” Caleb nods, face breaking into a smile he can barely contain, “Come over.”

And Essek thinks his feet sound a little too eager against the wooden floor, but as he slips next to Caleb, whose hand circles around Essek’s waist and pulls him closer, his face nestled in the nook of Essek’s neck as they both slowly fall back asleep in a quiet embrace, the tender kiss that Caleb plants at Essek's nape with a very softly whispered, "I've always wanted to do that..." makes a giddy warmth floods Essek’s veins and fills his heart twice as full.

He sleeps better than he’s slept in weeks.

—

**Author's Note:**

> Essek Week has been... a LOT and I love everything everyone's been creating so here's my humble offering at the alter. etfc server this one's for you, lads. 
> 
> [ psst... how he be we he be he ;) hehe :) ]


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